


Amber-Eyed Guardian

by Charlotte Jane Christie (StarlitSky)



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: AO3 exclusive, Family Fluff, Gen, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:59:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9594662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlitSky/pseuds/Charlotte%20Jane%20Christie
Summary: 2016 was a lousy year for me as far as posting new stories went, so I thought I'd start 2017 off right with a quick and light one-shot. A post-game offering for fellow Yomiel fans, with hopefully more to come.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I've been MIA in the writing world for a quite a while now, mainly because my life got flushed down the toilet a few years back...but that's another story entirely. Despite everything I never gave up on trying to write and I still have several works in progress I'm hoping to finish someday. I haven't posted anything new since 2014, so my apologies if my writing has gotten rusty.

The body was a funny thing. It could perform actions that were supposed to be voluntary when you weren't really thinking about it, or were focused on something else, and you would barely be aware of what you were doing until after you'd done it. Like that strange, almost self-hypnosis-like moment where you felt as if you suddenly "woke up" after driving a long stretch of highway and couldn't remember the last few miles. Call it instinct, call it reflex, call it subconscious action...whatever it was, that funny quirk of the body had Yomiel up and out of bed long before he was fully awake and aware he was moving.

He'd been dreaming, and still had lingering images of that dream flickering in his head when he found himself shuffling the short distance between the master bedroom and the nursery. He didn't remember waking up, and he didn't know why he was now standing in the doorway of his baby daughter's room. But fatherly instinct told him firmly that there was a reason for it, and he stood still a moment, blinking repeatedly as the fog of sleep slowly rolled away from his brain.

It took its sweet time, the blotches of darkness scattered across his vision gradually fading, coiling away like smoke until the interior of the nursery jumped into focus. Even before that, and before the faint tingling in his fingertips disappeared, Yomiel knew that something in here had roused him. Something had happened, something out of the ordinary enough to make him rush out of bed before the numbing grip of slumber had loosened completely.

Anyone who thought sleeping like a baby was an ideal circumstance didn't know much about babies. Sure, they usually slept about fifteen hours a day, but all that sleep was broken up by feedings, diaper changes, baths, and tears. Lots of tears. If the happy but exhausted parents got forty-five minutes of uninterrupted peace and quiet, it was a beautiful thing.

There weren't any tears in the nursery tonight. The room was calm and quiet, the only sounds coming from the occasional vehicle on the street below, the faint rustle of leaves in the tree outside the window, the distant bark of a stray dog. The room was softly lit by the gentle glow from the balloon-shaped lamp on the small dresser, casting more than enough light for a dark adapted eye to see the nearby crib clearly.

The glossy wood frame looked untouched, the side rails were locked in place, safe and secure. Still searching for the source of what woke him, Yomiel scanned the room from the doorway. His eyes drifted over the powder blue walls, the hand-carved rocking chair, the dresser full of clothes and cloth diapers, the toy chest that doubled as a comfortable bench seat. Nothing looked out of place, so the slim blond returned his eyes to the crib. He could see between the rail slats that his baby girl was awake, her wide blue eyes watching the ceiling intently. Her tiny feet were kicking absently, and her chubby fingers were stretched upward, like she was pointing.

Not at the ceiling, Yomiel realized, but at the mobile anchored above her crib. A menagerie of every sort of animal hung from shimmering threads, their shapes colorful and comical. A lion smiled next to a bouncing rabbit, a frog croaked beside a rearing pony, and a cat dozed while a nearby bird soared happily.

Even if his precious three-month-old was equally happy, she was still awake in the middle of the night, and her father wasn't going back to bed until he was sure everything was all right. His hazy mind waking up just a little more, he noticed that the plastic animal shapes were moving ever so slightly, like their strings had been stirred by a gentle breeze--or the mobile had recently come to a stop.

His gaze briefly flicked to the nearby window but, while the shade was left open an inch or so to let in morning sunlight, he knew the window was closed and latched. But it didn't surprise him when the mobile started turning without being wound, cheerfully playing its music box tune as the little animals twirled around and around. The sight delighted his tiny daughter, a bubble of laughter escaping as a smile lit up her round face.

Yomiel felt a smile touch his own face, and it stayed as he turned and left the nursery as quietly as he came. He didn't need to stick around to watch the mobile wind down. He knew it would start up again, as many times as it needed to, until his little girl fell back to sleep.

That didn't mean she wouldn't wake up again, or cry because she needed something, but it was with a sense of contentment Yomiel returned to the master bedroom, a strong feeling of peace he hadn't experienced when he went to bed earlier tonight. It was a feeling of security, of trust, that wasn't easy to come by.

Still smiling, he whispered, "Goodnight, cat."

A quiet voice, one warm, familiar, and spoken inside his mind replied, _Goodnight, old friend._


End file.
